Because I’m quite literally acting like a 14-year-old again, I read and re-read the messages Eileen and I sent earlier this morning:
‘Morning, Lily. Sleep alright?’
‘As well as I possibly can when my roommate decides to drop every single pan on the floor at 6 AM.’
‘Ah, the joy of having roommates. Definitely don’t miss those days.’
‘It’s honestly so aggravating sometimes. Love them, but god I want to murder them both some days.’
‘I can definitely help with that if it ever comes down to it.’
‘EILEEN!’
‘Kidding! Kidding. Mostly…’
I chuckle at the string of sweating emojis attached to that message. She doesn’t use emojis often, but when she does, it’s like a cat sat on her keyboard with seventeen different ones all in a row.
‘Let’s just stick to criminal blood for the time being, okay?’
‘You got it, dear.’
‘Did you ever decide on a place for tonight, by the way?’
‘I did. I’ll send you the restaurant address in a second. 6 PM still works for you?’